


Changement de Pieds

by Lanerose



Series: Lane's Yuri!!! On Ice Fics [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Skater Katsuki Yuuri, Yuuri Does Both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-11 04:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10455414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanerose/pseuds/Lanerose
Summary: A canon divergent ballet AU where Yuuri and Minako wind up teaching ballet in St. Petersburg after Yuuri's disastrous performance at the Sochi GPF.





	1. Chapter 1

When Yuuri returned from school, it took Minako less than a minute to see the way her favorite student was bleeding out.  His shoulders were slumped; he stared at the floor.  The bags under his eyes could hold all her groceries for a month.  His mouth was silent but his body was screaming.

“Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you,” she told him as she led him from the train station, only for him to jerk to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’m tired.”

He looked it.  Minako hadn’t seen anyone this tired since she’d met Joseph Duell, just after a performance in Balanchine’s “Symphony in C” and just a few hours before he executed a tour de force right off the balcony ledge of his apartment.  All the better reason to keep Yuuri busy.

“You can take tonight off,” she said after a lengthy moment, “but I expect you in my studio bright and early tomorrow.”

Yuuri tilted his head quizzically.  “Minako-sensei?”

Minako arched an eyebrow at him, kept her gaze sharp and firm.  “It’s already mid-March, Yuuri.  You’ve had three months to get over what happened at the Grand Prix Finals and at Nationals.  The time for sulking is over.”

She grabbed his arm and started marching toward her car, but Yuuri had his heels dug in.  She turned back.

“Minako-sensei….” He said slowly, staring at the ground still.  “About skating.  I’m not… that is, I haven’t decided yet…”

“Who said anything about skating?”  She asked. And this – this was what made him finally look up.  If Yuuri had been raised in Western traditions, she would touch his face, but she knew from experience how uncomfortable such a gesture from her would make him.  Instead, she shook the arm still in her grasp.  “Yuuri, what did I tell you when you started skating?”

Yuuri looked lost. Minako sighed.

“I told you,” she said, impatience creeping into her voice, “that you would always be welcome to switch back.  And that you could have a career in dance if figure skating wasn’t for you after all.”

Yuuri’s eyes went impossibly wide for a brief moment before his head snapped back down to the ground.

“I haven’t –“ he started, but quickly stopped again.  “I’m not sure – “

“Being sure is over-rated,” Mianko said.  “You always feel better when you’re moving, anyway.  Dance for now.  If you want to switch back later, too, that’s okay.

She started for her car again without letting go of Yuuri’s wrist.  Yuuri stumbled along in her wake.  He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either, and Minako’s hadn’t forgotten how to read Yuuri’s responses while he was away at school.  They reached the car.  Yuuri had settled into the passenger seat, his bags in the trunk, before Minako chanced another look at him.  He still didn’t look cheerful, but he did at least look thoughtful.

Minako smiled as she started the car.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yuuri showed up for rehearsal as demanded the next morning, mostly because he couldn’t think of anything better to do.  Also because Minako-sensei still scared him sometimes, and it was easier to go along with what she wanted then it would be to have to talk about it.

She gave him a look when he came in, the slow, evaluating glance that made him quail.  

“Looks like I’ll have to tell Hiroko to stop making katsudon for you again,” Minako said.  Yuuri flushed, staring down at the ground.  She didn’t have to say why.  Yuuri knew his diet had been poor lately, and the mirrors in Minako’s studio had never hidden that sort of thing.  Yuuri loved his parents, but genetics were definitely not doing him any favors in the weight department.  Maybe he should just embrace it.  Was it worse than it was when he was little?  Before he hit high school and really started –

Minako clapped loudly.  

“Well?” she said when he looked up, her foot tapping impatiently.  “What are you waiting for?  To the barre, Yuuri!  Time for warm-ups!”

Rehearsals at Minako’s dance studio had started the same since before Yuuri could really remember. Probably since he got bored waiting at the back of the room while Minako was babysitting and began to copy her movements, using the wall as support because he couldn’t reach the barre.  He had no memory of learning them at all – they were simply something he had always known.  

Yuuri grasped the barre with his right hand and swept the left into a basic bras bas, feet turned out in first position.  Slow tendus flat to the front, the side, the back.  Again, but demi-pointe.  Again, but full pointe.  Turn, left hand on the bar.  Repeat. Turn.  Fast tendus flat to the front, the side, the back.  Again, but demi-pointe.  Again, but full pointe.  Turn. Repeat.

There was a meditation in it. A silence where Yuuri didn’t have to think about anything, could simply focus on the movement.  He’d done this in Detroit on the few occasions that he’d managed to get studio space to himself.  It was funny – one of the main reasons he stopped taking ballet classes there was because the local schools all began barre work with plies and it had never felt right to him to begin that way.  Tendus first.  Always, always tendus first.  Then degages. Then rond de jambes.  Then, and only then, plies.  When he finally became friendly and known enough at a studio to be hired on as a teacher, it had been the one thing he’d insisted on.  The order of the barre, for his class if no other, was Minako-sensei’s regular variation.  

Yuuri wondered idly how his class was doing.  This semester had brought the usual assortment of suburban housewives and college students, but they had been friendly enough and not terribly chatty. Janice, the studio owner, had covered the very last class of the semester while he was in Sochi.  Sochi.  Where he had –

“Yuuri, what’s with your free leg?”  Minako’s voice cut through the fog of the routine.  He looked down, surprised to find himself already in third position. He studied the line of his leg, then blinked.

“Sensei?”  He asked.  Familiar brown eyes studied him.

“Ah!” She replied. “It’s your posture, not your leg. Don’t tell me you haven’t been practicing properly in Detroit?”

“No, no,” Yuuri said, dropping down so that both of his feet were on the floor as he waved his arms at her. “I’ve been practicing.  Really!”

Minako scowled at him. “Start again from the top.”

Yuuri took first position and began again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yuuri had been home for nearly a month when Minako got an unusual phone call.  It had been long enough to whip him back into shape physically, even if he still wasn’t there mentally.  Yuuko wouldn’t come to the studio because she didn’t want to intrude, but she had been by the bar and Minako knew from talking to her that Yuuri still hadn’t shown up at the Ice Castle.  At least, not when Yuuko or her husband had been working.  It was possible he showed up during business hours when someone else was manning the till, but Minako doubted it.

“Madame Baranovskaya!” Minako said when she answered the phone.  “It’s been too long!  How are you?”

“Minako-chan, how many times must I tell you to call me Lilia?”  A voice replied coolly, and Minako ducked her head apologetically with an instinct that years of separation hadn’t suppressed and was grateful her senpai wasn’t present in person to yell about her posture.

“Sorry, Lilia,” Minako said. “I thought of you that way for years before you judged my Prix de Benois, and even later when we danced together it never quite went away.”

“You understudied my roles and succeeded me as prima at the Bolshoi,” Lilia shot back.  “I think the time has come to accept me as an equal. I have thought of you that way for years.”

“You’re too kind, Lilia,” Minako said, heat creeping into her cheeks.  She could see the blush there reflected in the studio’s mirrors. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a favor to ask,” the Russian replied.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”  Lilia gave a disapproving hmph.  “One of the instructors at Vaganova was dancing Hilarion at the Mariinsky earlier this week, and while he didn’t actually dance to his death, he did manage to tear his ACL on a missed landing.”

“Have you had the corps throw the body in a pond yet?”  Minako asked.

There was a short, sharp laugh.  “I was tempted, but no.  However, he will be having surgery to repair it and will be out for several weeks, and his classes cannot remain untaught.  I have my own classes, and I thought you might be willing, for old times sake, to come spend a couple of months here with us.”

“I’m flattered that you would think of me,” Minako replied.  She was, too.  It wasn’t like anyone in the ballet world had seen any of her protégés.  The only one she ever really had was Yuuri, and he had always been too busy skating.  Under different circumstances, the offer might have been too tempting to pass up, but –

“You are hesitating,” Lilia said abruptly, and Minako realized that the moment had dragged too long. “What’s wrong?”

“My protégé – “

“Bring her along!” Lilia exclaimed.  “What is one additional body in a classroom?  It will be good for your student to see a professional company up close, after being in such a small town for so many years.”

“Ah.  That is.  He.”

Words were suddenly hard and Minako felt a rush of sympathy for Yuuri.  He was usually the one stuttering.  It felt so awkward, no wonder he always looked like that when it happened.

“We have dorms, милый.” Lilia said.  “You won’t need to share a room with him.”

“No, that’s not it,” Minako replied.  

Would Yuuri even be willing to come?  But then, he had been coming to the studio every day…  She frowned.

“When will you need an answer?” Minako asked.

“Today.  I can give you until the evening your time.”  Lilia replied.  

“How generous,” Minako said, eyeing the fading late afternoon sunlight streaming through her windows.

“Light tomorrow with today, Mina!”  Lilia replied, the tinny quality of the phone not keeping the hint of harshness from her voice.

Minako sighed. “Right.  We’ll be there.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“EH?!” Yuuri shouted when Minako told him to pack for Russia.  His eyes looked huge behind his glasses, like cupcakes with too much icing. “Minako-sensei, I only just got back –“

“And?”  Minako leaned closer to her student, using her height to her advantage.  “What’s keeping you here?  Your parents are used to you out and about, and Mari is enough help for them with the inn. You won’t skate at the Ice Castle. And I’m going to help a friend in St. Petersburg, so you should come with me.”

“About skating,” Yuuri mumbled, staring at the tatami.  “I’m still not sure –“

“Yuuri,” Minako said. She gave an exasperated little sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to be sure?  It’s for a little more than three months – just until the end of their school year.  You can make good contacts now, even if you go back to ice skating next season and don’t need them for another couple of years.”

Yuuri remained silent.

“Really,” she said, “what will it hurt?”

Yuuri was silent for a long time after that.

Minako outlasted him.

“All right,” he said after several minutes.  “Let’s go to St. Petersburg.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The night before he left for Russia, Yuuri skated Victor’s Stay Close to Me program at the Ice Castle. It was the first time that he had been on the ice since he returned to Hasetsu.  After a warm-up, he asked Yuuko to watch, because if this was the last time that he had the technique and the skill to do this, if this was as good as he would ever be, it felt right to have the girl who watched his first moves on ice see his final ones.  Yuuri had looked up the lyrics and knew that the song was supposed to be about leaving together.  He skated it like a goodbye anyway – as one who had been abandoned and who hoped that when he leaves, he would somehow not leave his love behind.

Unbeknownst to Yuuri, Yuuko’s daughters shot a video of it.  They posted it online, where it immediately became a viral sensation. Yuuri slept all the way to St. Petersburg, blissfully unaware of the chaos the little Nishigori children had caused. He missed the Nishigoris’ phone call, and he’d had notifications for social media turned off since Celestino insisted on it right after the Grand Prix Finals.  

Two days later, Victor arrived in Hasetsu, intent on coaching Yuuri.

Yuuri wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took one ballet class in college, three years of an amalgamation of dance (mostly contemporary with a year of Martha Graham) in high school, and otherwise learned everything that I know about ballet from my involvement in the Princess Tutu fandom or from Google. Ditto that for any Russian or Japanese used. Also French, which I'm taking a DuoLingo course on but otherwise don't speak. If something is horribly inaccurate, please let me know!!!
> 
> милый translates as dear. I was aiming for a generic affectionate term, someone tell me if I missed.
> 
> Changement de pieds literally translates as a change of feet and refers to a quick hop-like motion where a dancer lands with the opposite foot in front (i.e., from left in front of right to right in front of left or vice versa).
> 
> Joseph Duell was a real principal dancer in the New York City Ballet whose life came to a [really tragic end](http://articles.latimes.com/1986-02-18/local/me-9270_1_new-york-city-ballet) as described by Minako in the fic. [Vaganova Ballet Academy](http://vaganovaacademy.com) is one of world's elite ballet academies, and is in fact in St. Petersburg. Not that I picked it for that reason or anything. *cough**cough* It is in fact linked with the [Mariinsky Ballet](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mariinsky_Ballet), sharing personnel and such. Hilarion is a role in [Giselle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giselle), and his death scene is regarded as one of the most difficult classical male ballet solos. Short version, spirits of dead women (the corps de ballet) betrayed by those they love force him to he dance almost to death after he betrays a woman he loves. Once he's exhausted, the corps throws him into a pond and he drowns. There was a joke about that, but if you had to read this to understand it, then the joke probably wasn't funny. ^.^;;;;
> 
> True story: In the original version, Minako was just going to send Yuuri to St. Petersburg in her place. Then she decided she was keeping an eye on Yuuri and that was that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor goes to and returns from Hasetsu, and Yuuri and Minako arrive in St. Petersburg.

“Hi,” said the handsome foreigner, “is Yuuri here?”

Hiroko wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when the bell at the front desk rang in the early evening of an April day. Tourists seeking a room after staying too late to look at the cherry blossoms, probably. Maybe a guest who had lost a key or wanted an extra pillow – something like that. Definitely not her son’s childhood idol.

His hair was just as perfect as the posters and magazines had led her to believe.

“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling politely, “but Yuuri is in Russia.”

“Russia?!” A giant, heart-shaped smile stole across his face, his eyes glowing with excitement. “He went to St. Petersburg, right?”

“Yes,” Hiroko replied, “to be with his teacher.”

The foreigner picked her up and spun her around, an uncontrolled sound of joy pouring from his throat.

“Yuuri is the best!” He said as he set her back down on her feet. Hiroko laughed awkwardly, stepping back to be out of hug range. “I’m sorry we won’t get to talk more, but I should be there to meet him! Please send my boxes back return to sender when they arrive!”

And he whirled away, dragging his suitcase behind him as he hurried out the door.

Hiroko watched him go, incredulous.

“Was that Victor Nikiforov?” asked Mari, who had hurried out to the main room at the excited shouting.

“He came to see Yuuri, but Yuuri’s in St. Petersburg, so he’s going back,” Hiroko replied.

Mari’s jaw dropped. “Okay?”

“Yuuri’s going to be so surprised when Victor finds him…” Hiroko said, shaking her head. She turned to head back into the kitchen.

“You aren’t going to tell him Victor came?” Mari asked.

Hiroko shook her head.

“Some things,” she told her daughter, “are best experienced in person.”

Mari laughed. “Poor Yuuri!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was an apparently rare sunny April day when Yuuri and Minako arrived in Saint Petersburg. The trees bore the first hint of fresh green leaves, and Yuuri wasted no time in shrugging out of the heavy winter coat that Minako had insisted was a necessity. The air tasted bright, and the warm sunshine felt like new beginnings on his bare arms and face.

“Don’t be fooled,” Madam Baranovskaya said when Minako commented on how much nicer the weather was then she remembered it. “Petersburg is not so kind as this all the time.”

Madam pointed out the Mariinsky as they drove past on their way from the airport.

“It’s green,” Yuuri commented. Madam Baranovskaya glanced sharply at him, and Yuuri continued, “not that that’s bad. It’s a lovely shade. Of green, that is.”

He laughed nervously, scarcely resisting the urge to rub the back of his head.

“Ballet is a jealous mistress,” the former prima said, “of course her temple is green.”

Outside the car window, Yuuri could see the melting ice in the tributaries below, flowing steadily toward the Neva River and on to the see. Both the Mariinsky and the Vaganova Academy were in the Admiral Teysky district of St. Petersburg, near the harbor, with bridges and branches of water all around. Yuuri couldn’t recall ever seeing so many bridges and rivers all in one place. 

“Ваш студент старше, чем я ожидал,” said Lilia, the smooth flow of her voice warm like the early spring sunshine.

“Spring eggs are precious at Easter,”* replied Minako. “Do the students have holidays for Easter or will they be in session when we arrive?”

“They are on holiday for the rest of the week,” Lilia responded. She pulled the car to a halt outside a tall, pale yellow building. “We will leave your things in the car for now. You will be staying at my home as my guests.”

“Мы оба?” asked Minako sharply. Yuuri turned away from the window to watch Madam Baranovskaya’s face, which unfortunately failed to so much as twitch in response to whatever Minako had asked.

“Of course,” said Lilia. “Ему было бы неловко со студентами, не так ли? Разница в возрасте слишком велика."

“I suppose so.” Minako sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Minako-sensei?” Yuuri asked. She shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it, Yuuri-kun,” Minako replied. She smiled. “Shall we dance?”

Lilia unlocked the trunk and permitted Minako and Yuuri precisely enough time to gather their dance bags before she shooed them into changing rooms near a large studio.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Minako’s student needed lessons in presenting himself well off the dance floor. Lilia’s first impressed had been of a schlumpy thing in an oversized coat, with a face mask, glasses, and blue beanie all but hiding him from the world. The impression had improved when he stepped into the unseasonable Petersburg sun, the warmth prompting the boy to remove his facemask, hat, and coat. He still seemed somehow diminished, his shoulders sloping forwards and face downcast, but it was an improvement. The car moved quickly from the airport to the school, seeming to take no time at all. 

“You may change there,” she said after leading Minako and her student through a hall in Vaganova, indicating dressing rooms near a studio. “Then, Mina, if you will lead your student through a class? I would like to see your lesson style.”

“Of course, Madam. I mean, Lilia,” replied Minako. “Yuuri, change quickly so we can begin.”

“Yes,” Yuuri answered.

When he came back out, it was not only his clothing that had changed. Minako’s student took his place at the bar, posture erect, eyes firmly on the mirror. His t-shirt, dance belt, and tights revealed the lean muscles that his bulky outerwear had hidden. The movements of his arms and legs were crisp and clear as Mina led him through a warm up, each motion starting from his abdomen and flowing all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Center work, please, Mina,” Lilia said when she judged the young dancer to be warm enough to move on.

“In a moment, Lilia,” Minako replied. Lilia raised an eyebrow sharply at the younger woman, who merely shook her head, a half-made motion of her hand calling for patience. At the barre, Yuuri completed Minako’s variation on a standard warm-up. “In the center of the floor, Yuuri. The usual pattern.”

“Yes,” the dancer said.

“Temps lie passé, and fondue into attitude, three, and lower the heel four,” said Minako,. Lilia watched as the dancer moved freely and at ease, his lines long and graceful. “Promenade half a turn five and six, at the top corner allongé, and pas de bourree. Cloche your right leg through front…" 

Minako’s voice trailed into a steady blur of standard instructions in the background as Lilia studied the dancer before her. None of Vaganova’s current students were his equal in the quality of his lines and quality of movement, except perhaps that his arms were not as strong as those typically found in one trained in Agrippina’s methods. He was well-trained, to be sure.

“Which of the classical variations does he know?” Lilia asked when the center work was reaching its natural conclusion.

“He’s danced through most of them at one point or another. I’ve had him working on Albrecht from Giselle since you called, but we were improving his interpretation of Romeo before that.” Minako smirked. “I imagine he could recall Fritz from the Nutcracker or the male variation from Flower Festival at Genzano if you really wanted, though it’s been some years, hasn’t it?”

“Minako-sensei!” The dancer protested, though he quickly subsided. Lilia glanced at him.

“Maintain your posture,” she snapped, noting that his shoulders had been hunching up once again. “You have more grace than a crone and I will not have you tainting such performances with poor posture before or after!"

“Yes!” the boy shouted back, jerking straight up once more. His carriage remained correct even as his eyes stared deeper into the floor. An improvement, if imperfect.

“Your student has made his debut?” Lilia asked.

“No,” Minako replied. “Yuuri has been focusing on figure skating for a number of years.”

“Hmph. That foolish sliding my ex-husband encourages?” Lilia looked back at the young dancer. “Has he broken himself across the ice? A major injury that would interfere with performances?”

“No,” Minako said again, “Yuuri is taking a break from skating, but has not been physically injured.”

A spirit injury, then. Lilia has seen them destroy scores of dancers, hundreds even.

“Pain is beauty,” Lilia said. Her hand reached out to caress the cheek of Minako’s student, waiting until his eyes met hers before continuing. “Will you dance beautifully for me, Yuuri?”

“I - . That is – I …”

Lilia ran her thumb across his cheek, just under his eye.

“Yes, Madam Baranovskaya,” he replied, sounding somehow surprised at himself. He glanced down at the floor and would have shrunk in on himself again but for the firm press of her pinky under his jaw.

“Good,” Lilia said. “Show me Romeo.”

“Yes.”

Minako produced a cellphone with the appropriate music, and Yuuri began to dance. She knew before he had finished the first eight count that it would be beautiful.

“We will have him fill in for the injured dancer at the Mariinsky,” Lilia murmured to Minako, enjoying the way that the woman’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “You will take his teaching role here, your student the performance role.”

“Lilia, I’m not sure - .” Minako began, then cut herself off with a grimace. She sighed.

“Uncertainty begets change, and transformation often leads to beauty,” Lilia said. “There is no need to be certain when a change can always be made later.”

“Yes, I remember,” Minako replied. “I’ve been telling Yuuri that.”

“You see?”

“I know,” said Minako. “He needs more practice with partner work, though.”

“So we will have him dance the roles that do not require it while putting him through the partner classes here,” said Lilia. She turned from the dancer before her to face the younger woman directly. “You must know that even in Russia, dancers of his quality do not grow on trees.”

Minako smiled. “I know.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The thing was, it wasn’t like everyone in the figure skating circuit didn’t know that Yuuri Katsuki’s heart was made of glass.

Before he ever saw him skate, Yuri had heard two things about the senior skater who shared his name. Katsuki Yuuri was Japan’s ace. And Katsuki Yuuri had the biggest glass heart in figure skating, which was prone to shattering for any reason or no reason, usually at the most inconvenient moments possible.

Watching Katsuki with that moron Cialdini, Yuri had often thought that what the older Yuuri needed was someone more like Yakov. Someone who wouldn’t tolerate the self-pity that Katsuki was obviously prone to but would instead kick him back to work. So there Yuri was at the Grand Prix Finals, with rumors of retirement floating around Katsuki after a debacle of a performance. He was just minding his own business waiting for Victor when Katsuki walked past him, alone at last.

And Yuri had yelled at him.

And then Katsuki fucked up his Nationals and chose to sit out the rest of the season.

And then he skated Victor’s program so beautifully (and while so horrifyingly out of shape) that Victor quit skating to coach him.

And then Victor came back alone, resuming skating like he had never left.

“Yura! What was with that jump? I’ve seen twelve year olds land it better!” Yakov shouted.

Yuri mentally rewound the last minute.

“I landed it, so what does it matter?” He shouted back, skating on.

(It mattered a lot.)

The old man was weird. Victor said very little these days. Yuri wasn’t sure what to make of it, because he wsan’t exactly sad, but if his head had been in the clouds before it was in the stratospehere now, with how much he daydreamed. He had taken to humming his free skate from last year, and giving these weird little smiles at nothing. It figured that Katsuki couldn’t be satisfied with breaking himself and would have to completely break Victor, too.

“Yura, what are those three turns doing where your loop should be?” Yakov yelled. “Do you want to be downgraded to level two step sequences? You aren’t keeping your weight in your heel at the pivot – "

Yuri turned him out, gliding instead into a basic twizzle pattern. Even on his worst days, Katsuki’s loop turns had been impeccable. Maybe that was why he’d been so comfortable doing a toe loop as his only quad for so long? Maybe he should have tried to do a quad loop instead of a salchow. Maybe he should –

“YURI PLISETSKY!” came a loud shout a moment too late to keep him from bumping into Georgi.

“Чёрт!” Georgi shouted as he fell out of his turn and landed on his ass on the ice.

Yuri himself was less polite when he ate ice, screaming, “Блять!”

“YURI!” Yakov shouted again, and the words after that were garbled but the gesticulation to get over to the side of the ice was clear.

Yuri eyed Georgi, who had already gotten up and seemed to be fine for a long moment before he went, skating slowly to the boards. He reached over and grabbed his water bottle, greedily sucking down water while rubbing at his hip.

“You’re not hurt?’ Yakov asked, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes as he ostensibly focused on the other skaters.

“No, coach,” Yuri mumbled. He wiped his mouth and re-capped the water bottle.

“No aches before you started skating?” Yakov continued, his gravelly voice rumbling softly.

“No, coach.”

“If your growth spurt is starting, we should discussing delaying – “

“No!” Yuri replied. Yakov looked at his properly and raised an eyebrow. Yuri sighed, looking back across the ice to where Victor was carving through the ice as he flowed through a run of his free-skate from last season. Yakov followed his gaze, then sighed himself.

“Focus on your own skating, Yura,” he said.

“He promised that he would choreograph my senior debut if I won Junior Worlds without any quads. I’m just making sure he’ll live up to his end of the bargain!” Yuri protested.

“He hasn’t even choreographed his own programs for next season, Yura,” Yakov replied.

This, of course, was not strictly speaking true. Before his sudden flight to Japan, Yuri had watched Victor string together the first few thoughts of what would become a program. Some of his moves had a Spanish flair, possibly meant as a hat-tip to Barcelona, which would be hosting the Grand Prix Finals, though Victor usually had the good sense to avoid something that was too localized and might not play well at other competitions. Other moves looked almost worshipful. Yuri couldn’t figure out how the two sets were meant to mix, and had dared to hope that some of them were meant for him.

Since coming back from Japan, though, Victor skated either aimlessly or in endless repetition of his Stay Close to Me program. It wasn’t hard to guess that that idiot other-Yuuri was at the heart of the situation, but there was no way to know exactly how or why. Even now, Victor was tracing the familiar patterns across the ice, effortlessly landing the quad toe – triple toe combo that had ended his program. The program felt different than it had when he skated it at Worlds. Yuri wasn’t sure how, just different.

“If he hasn’t started teaching you a program by next week, we will begin with your free.” Yakov said.

“But Victor –“

“That selfish brat can either choreograph to fit whatever theme we come up with or we can have someone else choreograph your short program and use his as an exhibition or next year.”

Yakov gave Yuri a stare that reminded him of his cat Sasha when she figured out that Yuri intended to give her a bath and she had no desire to cooperate. Yuri tended not to win those battles, and experience had taught him that also like Sasha, Yakov tended to win.

All told, there was really only one thing to say.

“Yes, Yakov.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_Yuuri is in Petersburg._

The thought had been in the forefront of Victor’s mind ever since he first heard. Sometimes he’d put it aside for a few moments, let himself focus on the practicalities of getting ready for the next season. It was never long, though, before he wondered when Yuuri would show up at the rink. Or maybe he would head straight to Victor’s apartment. Victor wasn’t sure which would be the easier piece of information to obtain – it depended on who he asked, how Yuuri tried to figure it out.

“Stop smiling like that and start practicing seriously,” Yakov shouted from the edge of the rink.

“Yes, Yakov~!” Victor replied.   He hurried into a quadruple flip, following it up with the step sequence from his Stammi Vicino routine.

It was almost too good to be true. Victor had heard the rumors at Worlds about Katuski Yuuri, Japan’s ace who was “on break” from skating. Victor had seen this sort of break before with other skaters – a break was a soft retirement announcement by any other name. He’d been tempted to head straight for Yuuri’s hometown to see if he could do anything about it.

(“I don’t know, Victor,” Chris, his better angel, had said when Victor told him of his plans. “I was talking to his rinkmate Phichit, and he said he wasn’t pushing right now because it was doing more harm than good.”

“But he asked me to coach him…” Victor had replied.

“Why not wait for him to give you a sign?” Chris had asked.)

Victor had waited, hope dying a slow death with each day that passed, until suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, the internet exploded with a video of Katsuki Yuuri. Japan’s ace skated Victor’s program with the ease of someone who had practiced it for months, and with the kind of expression that Victor, on his best days, had never managed to give it.

A sign, just like Chris had said.

“Vitya!” Yakov yelled again. His face had turned an alarming shade of purple. “No more of that routine! Skate something else or get off my ice!”

“But Yakov – !”

“Don’t ‘but Yakov’ me little fool,” Yakov growled. “If you want to be a six-time champion you can’t slack off now!”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Yakov what he should do if he didn’t want to be a six-time champion. That wasn’t quite true, but sometimes Victor wondered. He missed the days when he won by a fraction of a point. The days when his base score wasn’t so high that he could fall once, pop a jump, make a host of other technical errors and still stand at the top of the podium. It had happened at Worlds in London, the year before last. His performance had been awful. People had even wondered, for the first time, if he might be heading toward retirement. His performance this past year had been so good that no one was asking any longer, but truthfully, Victor felt closer to retirement now than he had after London. It was tempting, to walk away on a high. He finally had somewhere to walk toward as well. Toward his Yuuri, who had sent up the kind of sign that could not be denied.

(“I told you that you were being ridiculous,” Yakov had said when Victor walked back into the rink after his impromptu trip to Japan.

He hadn’t had the heart to tell Yakov that he’d only returned because this rink, Yakov’s rink, was the place where Yuuri was most likely to come looking for him.)

Victor slid across the ice on an inside spread eagle, shifting easily into the choreography that he’d begun for On Love: Eros. Would Yuuri be better off with this choreography or with the Agape choreography? Should he start a third piece? If they were going to be training in Petersburg, there wasn’t really any reason why Victor couldn’t skate this season. Yakov would let Yuuri skate with them. Anything, to keep Victor on the ice.

Yuuri would be here soon.

He had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations! Mostly done by google, so correct me if I've got it wrong!
> 
> Ваш студент старше, чем я ожидал - Your student is older than I expected.
> 
> "Spring eggs are precious at Easter" is a rough translation of a Russian proverb used to express that proper timing is everything, much like Yuuri’s (at the time of this comment not yet scheduled) debut in the dance world.
> 
> Мы оба - Both of us
> 
> Ему было бы неловко со студентами, не так ли? Разница в возрасте слишком велика. - He wouldn’t be comfortable with the students, would he? The age difference is too great.
> 
> Чёрт - Heck (or darn, or other non-swear word that someone might say when upset)
> 
> Блеять - Fuck (or other vulgar curse)
> 
> The section on center work comes from the London Royal Ballet’s center class on World Ballet Day 2015, as taught by Jacquelin Barrett. You can watch it [here](https://youtu.be/OCkhHitkhIM?t=5m30) if you want to see what Yuuri was doing.
> 
> The description of Victor’s experience at Worlds in London is based on Yuzuru Hanyu’s performance at the 2016 Grand Prix Final in Marseille, where he fell, popped a jump, stepped out of a jump, and basically made a number of other technical errors but still won because his base score is just that high to start. Don’t watch that version of his Hope and Legacy skate, watch the one from Worlds 2017 because it’s a lot better. I'd like to take this moment to praise Kubo-sensei's sense of scoring, because if Yuzuru Hanyu had scored as high as he is capable of and every other skater got the scores they in fact received, the scores would be almost exactly like those in Yuri on Ice, ranging from ~230 to ~330. So much accuracy!!
> 
> This chapter dedicated with love to @tanlefan, who is moving and deserves something to read on the trip, and to my cousin who is getting married tomorrow, the optimism of which let me write Victor's parts which had otherwise stymied me because dramatic irony of this sort is much more fun to read than to write.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time marches on in St. Petersburg.

On the open floor, Yuuri took his opening position and waited for the music to start. The sounds of Spanish guitar filled the room, and Yuuri took flight from the ground in a grande jete en arabesque, landing precisely as he ought. As he stepped out, Minako shook her head.

“Square your shoulders and keep your chin up, Yuuri!” she called. “You’re a ballet dancer, not a turtle hiding in its shell!” 

“Yes!” Yuuri replied, lengthening his neck and forcing his shoulders down.

“He’s more nervous today,” Lilia said quietly, loud enough to be heard over the music but not enough for Yuuri to hear her.

Minako hummed affirmatively in reply as Yuuri’s shoulders started inching upward again. “Yuuri has always been prone to nerves.”

“Still.” Lilia eyed the boy. Yuuri’s steps were strong and graceful even as his body tightened itself out of proper form.

“He will be joining group rehearsals at the end of the week.” Lilia replied. “Is there nothing that would help him relax?”

Minako snorted. “I don’t suppose you know an ice rink that would let him skate alone after hours, do you?”

Lilia turned abruptly. “Would it be helpful?”

Minako startled, looking back at Lilia. “I… well, I think so. It’s what he always used to do before recitals.

“Although,” Minako continued, the left side of her face scrunching sourly, “it may do more harm than good just now. He hasn’t skated that anyone knows about since he came home to Japan in March.”

She glanced at Yuuri before facing Lilia again. “He hasn’t said anything one way or the other, so it’s hard to know.”

“But you think it may be of use?” Lilia asked, her brows creasing as she looked intently at Minako.

“I don’t think it would hurt, either way,” Minako said. “Why? Would it be possible for you to arrange such a thing?”

Lilia’s frown deepened. “I would have to speak to _that man_ , but it could likely be arranged.”

“Madam Baranovskaya, I don’t – “

“Lilia.”

“Lilia,” Minako replied, “I don’t want you to have to talk to your ex-husband unless it’s absolutely necessary. Why don’t we wait a day or two and see if Yuuri can get past this a different way first.”

Lilia, by way of answer, looked back at Yuuri. Minako followed her gaze.

“Shoulders down, Yuuri!” Minako called again, sighing.

“Yes!” Yuuri shouted, forcing his shoulders down and nearly overbalancing on a turn as a result. Minako’s hand rose almost involuntarily to her forehead.

“One day,” Lilia said, “we will wait one day.”

“Okay,” Minako replied, “one day.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

St. Petersburg’s flirtation with unseasonably warm weather had passed, leaving a fierce chill in the air for Victor’s morning run. The rising sun glinted off the chunks of ice floating in the Neva, slipping slowly out to sea. Victor, too, could feel himself slowly slipping away.

“Доброе утро!” called a vendor from whom Victor sometimes bought coffee as Victor jogged onto Trinity Bridge.

“Доброе утро,” Victor replied, continuing on his way without stopping.

There was a time when he would have been sprinting across the bridge, hoping to get to the rink that much sooner. For years, there were times when Victor would at least have committed to intervals on his morning run, hurrying through sections here and there to try and improve his stamina. And for a few brief and shining days recently, Victor had run with enthusiasm he hadn’t had in years on the hopes that surely this would be the day that Yuuri at last arrived.

Maybe he had missed him. Maybe Yuuri had arrived in St. Petersburg the very same day that Victor arrived in Japan. No one would have known what Yuuri was doing here, or even necessarily have thought to mention to Victor after he got back that Yuuri had been here – it wasn’t like Victor had told anyone where he was going, after all.

Maybe Yuuri had already come and gone.

Maybe all the good in Victor’s life had come and gone.

Victor turned left at the far end of the bridge, heading through the little park along the Kronverkskaya, just across from the Peter and Paul Fortress. The trees were starting to bloom in spite of the renewed chill. It wasn’t cold enough for the new growth to freeze. Victor tried to take it as a sign. This new chill was temporary.

Spring would come again.

 _Yuuri_ would come again.

He focused on the river flowing slowly to the sea, barges too going silently along in the calm of the morning. Overhead, a few gulls called out, others responding in kind. There was nothing like the constancy of the thaw to soothe the soul. Victor had seen it many times. No matter how frequently the rivers froze over, or how long they stayed frozen in the winter, when spring came, the ice would thaw, and the river would flow freely once more.

Ahead, Victor’s home rink stood, impassive as ever in early morning light. Victor took one last glance at the water before heading in.

“Vitya, you’re late!” shouted Yakov from beside the rink. “Warm up and get on the ice!”

Victor laughed, his voice bright in a way that did not reach his heart as he replied, “Coming, Yakov!”

His thaw, too, would come.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“He’s late,” Yuri growled as he skated over to the boards, leaning down to grab his bottle of water. “Again.”

“Aww, Yura,” said Mila from where she was leaning against the boards, drinking her own water, “I would almost think that you care.”

“I don’t!” Yuri replied. He tilted his head back and gulped down some water, closed the bottle and tossed it back onto the bench. As he skated off again, he added, “Stupid hag, who would care about that loser?”

Mila watched as Yura headed off. His edges were sloppy, and Yakov was already shouting about them. The shouting made Yura lean into them a little more, deepening the curve of his lines even as he failed to shift his weight properly on the turns in the step sequence he was working.

“Something’s got the kitten all riled up,” she said sotto voce to Gosha, who was leaning against the boards and stretching. Gosha looked up and smiled.

“Ah yes, the sweet and subtle affection of the teenager,” he said. “I’m so glad that Anya and I met after we had both passed that phase. She would have resisted becoming the warmth of my soul if I had shown my affection as Yuri does.”

Mila laughed. “You? Like Yura?”

Georgi leaned forward, walking his arms out until he rested on his elbows in a full split beside the rink. “You don’t think I could have?”

Mila considered. From what she could remember, most of Georgi’s teenage years had been spent writing love poetry in every spare moment and then failing to give the poems to the objects of his affection. The one time he had managed to find the courage to give the girl the poem, Darya had told him that being compared to the cold caress of the ice was not a compliment and refused to talk to him again.

“No,” she said, laughing again, “I don’t think so.”

“Less talking, more working!” shouted Yakov.

“Yes, Coach!” they replied. Mila dropped her water bottle and skated back out onto the ice. This was going to be her year.

Good thing, too. Between Vitya, Gosha, and Yura, the mens’ competition could be a disaster this season.

And with that thought in mind, she went back to work on the triple axel she wanted to land in the coming season.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Madam Baranovskaya,” called Lilia’s assistant Charlotte, “you have a phone call. It’s... he says it’s important.

The minute hesitation told Lilia everything she needed to know about her caller’s identity. She glanced at the stage, where rehearsal had paused to await her decision.

“Very well then,” said Lilia, I will listen to what that man has to say. Dancers, you will resume from the last pas de deux, which was sloppy, and will be clean upon my return.”

“Yes, Madam Baranovskaya!” Replied the company.

“Hmph.”

Lilia’s boots clacked across the tiled floor of the lobby as her assistant ran ahead to advise Yakov that she had consented to speak with him. No matter how much time had passed, it always felt like more would be preferable before she had to deal with him. The divorce had only been finalized for a few months, and the few times that they had needed to speak in the interim had all been awkward.

 _That man_ , who after years of being unable to tear himself away from her side because of the beauty in her dancing, who had all but abandoned her in favor of coaching his precious Vitya. It was unbecoming for a dancer to be jealous. Unbeautiful. The most unlovely emotion in the world and it burned in her brighter than she cared to admit. There were too many things she did not want to admit – that she wanted him by her side, that she needed him to tell her he still loved her, that he should make prayers of his hands against her body as they made love. To admit that she had felt alone with him and felt lonelier still now that she was without him.

“Here, Madam,” Charlotte said, handing her the receiver and pressing a button on the phone.

“I’m listening,” Lilia said.

“Lilia,” Yakov said, and here he paused. “I need your help.”

“ _My_ help?” Lilia raised an eyebrow. There was, after all, very little they had in common these days. “With what?”

“One of my skaters is preparing for his senior debut,” Yakov began, and Lilia resisted the temptation to slam the phone down through sheer force of will. “He has potential, Lilia, but he needs a choreographer who can push him.”

“And Victor Evgenyevich cannot help you with this?” she asked, voice harsh and cold.

“No,” Yakov said quietly. “Lilia, he hasn’t even started to choreograph his own routines for this year. I may need to start putting together a routine for him myself, if this gone on much longer.”

It was the fact that Yakov’s voice had gone quiet, more than anything, that caught Lilia’s attention. When the words sank in, though, she needed a moment to process them as well. Many years ago, when Victor Evgenyevich had first started skating, Lilia had worked with Yakov to choreograph his routines. It had been a work of love for the two of them, Lilia and Yakov, to put together something beautiful for the ice. And Victor had been quite beautiful, until he started behaving like the teenager that he admittedly was and insisted on taking over his own music selection and choreography nearly a decade ago. He had always been full of new ideas, down to requesting customized music tailor-made for the stories that he wanted to tell on the ice. For him to have nothing by May – it was unprecedented.

“And this new skater?” Lilia asked. “He is talented?”

“Depending on how he grows,” Yakov replied, “he may be better than Vitya.”

This was no small statement for the coach of the five-time world champion to make. It also told Lilia much of what she would need to know to choreograph. A younger skater moving up before his growth spurt hit – so one in a last season where he could be delicate and who would undoubtedly want nothing to do with the softness that she would demand of him. She would not have another Victor Evgenyevich contesting her decisions. But if the skater were sufficiently malleable, she might even beat Victor Evgenyevich at his own game.

Lilia was not proud of the vicious coil of glee that thought unleashed in her.

“I will meet him,” she said.

“Lilia, thank you so –“

“Do not thank me yet!” Lilia interrupted. “I will meet him, and then I will decide. And for the favor of meeting him, I will need something from you in return.”

Yakov paused. When they were younger, and still married, he would not have hesitated to tell her that he would do anything within his power for her. It seemed their divorce settlement had at last taught him the folly of such words.

“What?” Yakov asked, the question unadorned.

“Your rink,” Lilia replied.

“Lilia – !“ Yakov began blustering.

“Not all of it, or all the time, or permanently,” she said over him, and Yakov subsided. “But in the evenings, when everyone has gone for the day, for an hour or two.”

“To skate?” Yakov asked, his voice equal parts incredulous and hopeful in a way that twisted unpleasantly in her chest. “Lilia, I – “

“Not for me,” she added, to be clear, “but for one of my dancers.”

“You’re letting one of your dancers skate?”

Lilia could hear the confusion in Yakov’s voice. Dancers at the Mariinsky were certainly discouraged from participating in any activity that might lead to them being unable to perform, and ice skating had twisted more than one unwary dancer’s ankle.

“It’s an unusual situation,” she replied. “Someone may stay to clean the ice afterwards, but he must have the rink to himself while he is on the ice.”

Yakov hesitated. “He won’t attempt anything dangerous? I will not have anyone seriously injured from lack of proper supervision at my rink.”

“No,” Lilia said, “and if he does I would take away this privilege from him myself.”

“All right,” Yakov replied after a moment’s further hesitation, “I will give you a key when you come to see my skater.”

“I will be there tomorrow morning at seven sharp.” Lilia said. “Make sure that your skater is not late. Goodbye.”

Without waiting for an answer, Lilia hung up.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Yuuri-kun, pai nai maa khrup?” Phichit said when the Skype call finally connected.

“Ah, Phichit-kun, mai jer gaan nan leuy khrup!” Yuuri replied. “Sorry to have been out of touch for so long.”

Yuuri had remembered to call Phichit when he first got back to Japan, if only because Phichit had threatened to use the credit card his parents gave him for emergencies and follow Yuuri back to Japan if Yuuri didn’t call promptly upon his arrival. Phichit would have killed Yuuri when he arrived, to say nothing of what Celestino and Mama Chulanont would have done to them both when they found. After that, Phichit was out of touch for two days traveling back to Bangkok, and it had ben easier for Yuuri to think about his future while he was radio silent, especially with Minako on his heels most hours of the day.

“That’s all right, but where are you?” Phichit asked. “I tried to call the onsen and your parents said something about Russia?”

“Ah,” Yuuri said, glancing away to avoid Phichit’s worried expression, “Sorry not to have said anything. A friend of Minako-sensei’s asked her to teach in St. Petersburg for a few weeks and she invited me to come along.”

For a few moments, Phichit was silent. Yuuri regretted that his camera wasn’t on to capture it.

“Yuuri!” Phichit said, a smile bursting across his face. “That’s fantastic! How is the ice in Russia?”

“Uhmm…” Yuri trailed off, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his head.

“Yuuri….” Phichit said, a scolding sing-song in his voice.

“How about Thailand?” Yuuri said instead of answering. “Is it weird being back home after so many years abroad?”

Phichit squinted at him, pursing his lips. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing, Yuuri. Tell me about the ice in Russia first, and then I’ll tell you about Thailand.”

Yuuri waited a long moment, still not looking at the screen. From downstairs, he could hear Minako laughing at something Madame Baranovskaya had said.

“Yuu~~ ri~~.”

“I … haven’t actually… tried it yet,” Yuuri said at length. “The ice, that is. I’ve been dancing with Minako and the ballet needed someone who could fill in so – “

“Eh?” Phichit replied. “Well, you’ll get there. It might be a nice break from dancing if that’s what you’ve been working since the last time we talked. Anyway, it’s weird being back home again, especially since the twins are home, too, right now. The ice is just as cold as Detroit, though….”

Phichit kept up a steady stream of description of Thailand, and Yuuri felt only a little bit guilty about tuning him out to consider skating again. He hadn’t been on the ice in nearly a month. Maybe it would be good to take an afternoon and go skate figures. No one here would recognize him, anyway. It’s not like he was anything more than a dime a dozen skater from Japan.

He would be just another face in the crowd.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yakov was waiting for Lilia when she arrived at 6:55 the following morning. She was still beautiful. He suspected that she always would be, to him. She held her hand out to him silently, and he just as silently put the key into her hand.

“Where is he?” she said.

“On the ice,” Yakov replied, “Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky. Short, with blond hair.”

“Hmph.” She turned, her assistant trailing after her.

It was strange to see her walking away from but heading deeper into the rink. She hadn’t done that since the days when Vitya was in Juniors, and even then they had almost always walked in together.

Distracted, it took Yakov a moment to follow after her. By the time he reached the rink side, she already had Yuri by the face and was examining his teeth. Yakov resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Apparently, Lilia had grown more eccentric during their time apart.

After extracting promises of Yuri’s body and soul from the boy (why did Yakov keep attracting such dramatic people?) and setting down some conditions of her own, Lilia gestured Yakov toward his office.

“You maintain your subscription seats?” Lilia asked, apropos of nothing.

“Yes,” Yakov replied, “it’s good for the younger skaters to experience high caliber choreography off the ice as well as on.”

Also, Yakov would never miss an opportunity to see Lilia’s work, and would go whenever he was in town.

“Hmph.” Said Lilia. “Victor Evgenyevich needs inspiration. Send him to next Tuesday’s production of Don Quixote.”

“He’s seen Don Quixote before,” said Yakov.

Lilia’s eyes narrowed. “Send him anyway. I suspect it will inspire him.”

Yakov considered her slowly. Would it be more difficult to get Lilia to drop it or to force Victor to attend? Each was intractable in their own way.

“All right,” Yakov replied, “I will tell him.”

Lilia nodded once, sharply, and left without another word.

Yakov rose and went to find Victor. He would pass the message and the orchestra seat ticket, and that would be an end to it.

Victor could face Lilia’s wrath alone if he failed to show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Доброе утро – Good morning.
> 
> Pai nai maa khrup - Where have you been?
> 
> Mai jer gaan nan leuy khrup! - I haven't seen you in a while!
> 
> This chapter had a couple of allusions that I really like, one to a song that you won’t be able to find a digital version of that goes the way I learned it (or I would have linked to it, lol) and one to a novel series that I’m a big fan of. Five points to the Hogwarts house of the first person to identify the novel series and ten points if you can pick out the song!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is something in the air in St. Petersburg.

There was nothing in the world quite as enticing as freshly cleaned ice.

That was what Yuuri thought when he walked into the rink at about nine fifteen that evening. Madame Lilia had told him that the rink officially closed at eight, but that some skaters stayed until nine. Yuuri figured that nine fifteen would be late enough for even the stragglers to have left, and given that only a ghost light illuminated the ice, Yuuri had been right.

(It had been quite the surprise when Madame Lilia held him back after rehearsal to present him with the key and the address written on a notecard.

“You will perform no maneuvers likely to lead to injury,” Madame had instructed him harshly when she did so. “I do not have time to find yet another replacement for these roles. You understand?”

“Yes!” Yuuri had exclaimed, wary of the glint in her eyes that promised retribution.

“Good.”)

Yuuri tied on his skates in the empty rink, not bothering with the locker room. There was a smell that most rinks had, combining the scent of dozens of pairs of rental skates, with leather in varying states of use and smell, and sweat, which clung just a little to the air, and the ice underneath it all, clean and cool. The rink to which Madame Lilia had given him a key had that familiar scent lingering in all its corners, and a wave of nostalgia crashed over Yuuri. Some things never changed.

He took his time, carefully re-lacing and knotting his skates. Yuuri hadn’t meant to set foot on ice in Russia at all, although maybe he had somewhere inside, since he had brought his skates anyway. He took a deep breath, approached the rink entrance in the boards, pulled off his hard guards, and stepped out onto the ice.

Phichit was right, Yuuri thought as he took off his glasses and set them carefully beside his guards. The ice felt solid and reassuring beneath his feet, immovable as stone but willing to let him through as he moved upon it. Yuuri took two laps of the full rink to warm up, trying to decide what figures to do on the perfectly shining ice that he had been gifted.

He started with a simple figure eight, the most basic of all maneuvers. As he leaned into his inner edge, Yuuri felt a tension that he hadn’t even realized was there slipping from between his shoulders, edging away easily. Yuuri wondered when it had crept in. He had not performed as a dancer in several years – perhaps that was what had brought it back.

Yuuri changed feet, following the lines, and when he grew bored of the figure eight, switched to a new patch of ice and picked another familiar old pattern. The ice felt so good beneath his blades. Yuuri had almost forgotten just how good it could feel to glide across the ice. All of his extra ballet practice had only decreased the difficulty of the figures, making it easier to hold the positions for longer with his head up, free and clear. He pushed forward with good and consistent speed, sinking deep into his edges, balanced and completely at ease.

For the first time in what felt like months, Yuuri could breathe easily on the ice.

~

The Vaganova Ballet Academy was an impressive building, a relic from the days when it had been the Imperial Ballet that lived up to the grandeur that the name implied. Yuri hadn’t taken any particular note of it before, but it spoke of success in the same way that Yakov’s rink did, with an undeniable _something_ in the air.

“You’re late,” called a sharp voice as Yuri poked his head into the studio that Yakov had directed him to. Yuri glanced at the clock on the wall, on which the minute hand had just clicked over to the hour marker, then back at Madame Baranovskaya, who was glowering down at him.

“What the hell…?” he asked. “No, I’m not. You said to be here at seven, and it’s seven.”

“A dancer arrives early enough to change and stretch before class,” replied the prima ballerina, her tone low and displeased. She scowled at his sneakers and street attire. “You will prepare now while I work with the corps, who are prepared to begin, instead. Be ready by 7:15, and do not ever be late again.”

She turned, her heels clicking sharply on the wooden floor as she stalked from the small studio. Without the bulk of the coat she had worn in the rink, the Madame was even thinner than he had first guessed, truly willowy in a way that ballerinas sometimes were, but with the kind of arm muscles that even Mila would be jealous of.

“Old witch,” Yuri grumbled under his breath. He glanced around for a place to change, spotting at length a room across the hall with a men’s sign on it. He dressed in a hurry, not wanting to be caught unprepared twice in one day, and went to stretch.

Stretching was, Yuri reflected, _boring_. He leaned left, and then right, forwards and backwards, spreading his arms and his legs through different positions that he had been taught.

“No,” called Madame Baranovskaya from the doorway. A glance at the clock revealed it to be precisely 7:15.

“No?” Yuri replied, drawing himself up from a spread-eagled stretching position on the floor until he was standing.

“No,” she repeated firmly. “No wonder your form and flexibility are terrible. Has that man and his staff failed to teach you anything about proper stretching and preparation for the work?”

“I know how to stretch,” Yuri hissed.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” thundered Madame Baranovskaya, “what did you offer in exchange for my tutelage?”

Well. Put like that.

Yuri glanced at the floor.

“We will begin your lesson today with proper stretching,” said Madame Baranovskaya, perhaps sensing his acquiescence. “Engage your core and begin with prances.”

“Prances?” Yuri nearly gagged at the name, narrowly stopping himself when he caught a glimpse of his teacher’s face.

“That man may have called them heel raises and high knees,” the prima replied primly. She clapped once, and the sound echoed in the room. Yuri jumped reflexively. “Only one leg at a time off the ground, and _engage your core_.”

The pre-season and season ahead suddenly stretched out long in front of him as he tried to comply, Madame Baranovskaya critiquing his form the whole time.

Perhaps Yuri had been overly hasty in offering his body and soul to a demon shaped like a dancer.

~

The first thing that Yakov saw when he walked into the rink that morning were the trails in the ice. He was confused until he remembered that Lilia’s skater-dancer would have been here the prior night, and that he had forgotten to warn Stanislaus that the rink would need to be re-iced either last or first thing. It was a blessing in disguise, Yakov thought, as he walked over and glanced at the remaining traces to evaluate the skater’s skill level.

_Beautiful_.

That’s what the clean patterns neatly carved into the ice were. Here, in the ice nearest Yakov, a smoothly curling paragraph loop on which Yakov saw, as he should, neither a clear start nor end point. Assuming a skater of roughly five feet in height, the fifteen foot-diameter circles were perfectly proportioned. Not far away, there was a Swiss S with diamond counters cut deeply. Perhaps most elegant, on the far side of the ice, was a creative figure that would not have looked out of place in one of Gillis Grafstrom’s books. Yakov squinted. One of the turns in the creative figure’s inner pattern looked as though it must have been made by a Grafstrom pirouette.

This was almost certainly not the work of an amateur. In each figure, the tracings were uninterrupted, without any evidence of wobbles or subcurves. These figures had the quality of a professional, or former professional, and the former was more likely given that the skater in question was dancing for Lilia. But was anyone even still teaching school figures? And Lilia…

“Oh, Lilia,” Yakov sighed, shoulders slouching forward as he considered what the FFKKR would say if they knew he had granted an unknown competitive skater ice time, “you do like to give me problems.”

“Who, me?” Victor asked. Yakov resisted the urge to jump, instead turning around and crossing his arms firmly across his chest. Of course, after weeks of being late to the rink every day, the one day that Yakov did not want to have Victor around early would be the one day that his beloved headache arrived early.

“Of course, you,” Yakov replied, making a mental note to attach a bell to the rink door. “Who else do you think has caused the loss of so much of my hair?”

“Hmm,” said Victor, with a mocking sort of thoughtfulness. He tapped his lips with his index finger, then dropped it and smiled insouciantly. “Any of the other skaters here?”

Yakov snorted. Victor wasn’t wrong. Still…

“Are you here to talk or to work?” Yakov asked in lieu of responding. He dismissed Victor with a wave of his hand. “Put your things in your locker, warm up, and get your skates on. Repetition is the mother of learn– “

“Of course, Yakov,” Victor said, cutting him off. He turned and walked into the locker room, unzipping his puffy grey coat as he went, calling over his shoulder, “Whatever you say, Yakov!”

Yakov checked his watch. Stanislaus wouldn’t be in for another twenty minutes, but Yakov didn’t want to have to deal with questions – whether from Victor or one of the others, all of whom were due to arrive momentarily. They might not notice at first glance, but the figures were too pristine not to raise questions once the first skater hit the ice. Yakov sighed again, reaching for his keys.

Yakov’s key ring had many keys, some used more frequently than others. The least used key was a small silver one that ran the beastly machine in the corner of the rink. Yakov had not used the key in years, not since the time that he had taken it out onto the rink after the skaters had left for the evening and it had done him the favor of dying in the middle of the rink, leaving him stranded without so much as a pair of skates to get back to the boards.

Unwilling to take the chance of questions he could not answer, Yakov located the small silver key and headed to the corner. A scowl curved onto his face as he paused long enough to grab a pair of skates from behind the rental counter just in case.

Lilia’s work with Yuri would have to be miraculous to make up for Yakov having to drive the Zamboni.

~

Victor Nikiforov was having a rather strange day.

Makkachin had woken him in the wee hours of the morning, when twilight’s glow had just begun peeking through the windows of their apartment, and demanded that they go for a walk.

“ _Now_ , Vitya,” Makkachin had whined.

Well, actually, what she had said was “ _Woof! Woof-rwoof!!_ ”, but Victor had known her long enough that it was basically the same thing. Victor also knew that while Makkachin was reluctant to leave him any “surprises,” she only woke him like this if she was considering needing to leave one. Victor had, therefore, reluctantly gotten out of bed.

At four-thirty a.m., St. Petersburg was quiet, just barely stirring in the pre-dawn light. St. Petersburg’s infamous White Nights had not arrived yet for the year, but they were well on their way. Nevertheless, there was a new light dusting of snow on the ground, and after taking care of business, Makkachin wasted no time in laying down and rolling around in it.

“Makka,” Victor scolded. Makkachin looked up at him with an unrepentant grin, tongue lolling from the side of her mouth. Victor, because he was weak, pulled out his phone and took pictures instead of pulling her out by her leash. After a moment, he posted the best one to instagram, #makkachin #dogsofinstagram.

It must be simpler to be a dog, especially a dog like Makka who got indulged all the time because her person loved her. Easier to only have to worry about… well, did Makka have anything to worry about? Maybe when Victor would get home, or when someone would take her for a walk. But Victor kept a fairly rigid schedule, and this morning notwithstanding, so did Makkachin. So to not have to worry about anything, really.

“Vitya, feel how cold it is! It’s so nice!” Makka said (or, well, “ _Woof, woof woof woof rwoof-oof_.”) as she got to her feet and shook the off the snow. Some of it landed on Victor’s pants, soaking quickly through to the skin like the spray of ice when another skater came to a sudden stop nearby. He hadn’t felt something like that in a while. It was good – a waking sort of chill that connected Victor more firmly to the here and now.

“Are you ready, Makka?” Victor asked, and Makka’s tail wagged harder. She leaned against him, her damp fur pushing the morning chill deeper into his bones.

When they returned from their walk, Victor found himself going through his morning routine with the kind of speed that had been missing for months. There is something, some kind of charge in the air, that urges him forward and has him leaving for his run to the rink early.

Victor arrived at the rink and went as usual to pass by the rink on his way to the locker room, only to spot Yakov staring out at the ice. Unthinkingly, Victor walked closer.

“ – do like to cause me problems,” Yakov mumbled as Victor walked up.

“Who, me?” Victor asked, and clearly Yakov thought that he had been alone because he gave one of the not-quite-jumps that he’d resorted to once he realized that Victor was going to keep trying to surprise him if he kept jumping every time Victor did so. In younger Victor’s defense, a surprised and jumping Yakov was hilarious.

Victor and Yakov made small talk, and at Yakov’s direction, Victor headed into the locker room. It felt like something was going to happen. Victor’s skin tingled with it as he got changed.

“You know what to do,” Yakov said from his usual spot by the rink when Victor emerged, warmed up and ready to work.

“Yes, Yakov,” Victor replied. For perhaps the first time in months, it was not a lie. He had something to skate. He skated without music, stringing steps into thoughts and phrases for which he could find something or have music composed later. Slowly at first, then faster, wild and simmering. Victor skated _anticipation_.

Yuuri was in St. Petersburg. He knew this, Yuuri’s own parents had told him so. If Yuuri could not find his way to Victor, then there must be something that Victor could do. Surely Yuuri was still practicing somewhere. His own rink would never have given Yuuri ice time, but there were plenty of rinks in St. Petersburg. If Yuuri worked at a public rink, someone would have tweeted about it by now – those divine step sequences or even just a basic jump practice would have been noted by even a casual observer. Victor would double check his social media sites, but the more likely conclusion was that he had found private ice time somewhere else. Likely in the evening, after regular closing, when the rink would be free.

And there it was. Like a lightbulb bursting into brilliance, Victor knew what he could do. There were only so many rinks, after all, and Victor wouldn’t hesitate to go to all of them. Someone would know what had happened to Yuuri. Someone would be able to tell him.

“Better,” Yakov said when Victor came off the ice at the end of practice. “You are finally having inspiration?”

“I’m always inspired,” Victor replied, a broad grin pasted on his face.

“Feh.” Yakov shook his head. “We will look at it again tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes,” agreed Victor, drying off his blades with quick movements and putting on his guards.

“Vitya,” Yakov said, and Victor looked back up at him. Yakov had moved from the rinkside closer to him and was holding out a pair of familiar looking theatre tickets. “Lilia thought that you should see Tuesday’s performance.”

Lilia also thought that Victor should still be spending as much time a day in the ballet studio as on the ice, and that Victor’s career and choreography choices had ruined her marriage. Consequently, her opinion didn’t count for much. In the interest of a speedy departure, however, there was only one thing to do.

“Thanks, Yakov,” Victor replied glibly, taking a ticket.

“I’m sending Yuri with you if you don’t have a guest in mind,” Yakov said. “Lilia is going to be taking over his ballet training, and it will help – “

“Yes, yes, do as you like,” Victor interrupted, waving Yakov off as he finished unlacing his skates and returned to the locker room. Given that Victor wasn’t planning to actually attend, it would hardly matter who took the other seat.

There was a different Yuuri waiting for Victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now learned way more than I wanted to know about school figures and how you skate them. If you ever want to talk about them, hit me up. If you need a quick reference, the best I found was here: http://www.usfsa.org/Content/Compulsory%20Figures%20Rules.pdf , and you should probably know that there is still a World Figure Championship, which I maintain that Yuuri would have kicked ass in if he ever entered.
> 
> If you’d like to see the figure designs that Yuuri skated, just google the names. Creative figures can be anything that you want, and I can’t actually tell whether a Grafstrom pirouette is a sensible thing to include in one (or if you could tell that one had been used) because the description that I had of it was vague, so someone please correct me if I’m wrong on that, but I liked the idea of tying in another Grafstrom reference.
> 
> Gillis Grafstrom was a Swedish skater in the early part of the 20th century who is widely regarded to this day as one of the best skaters of school / compulsory / creative figures. Think Da Vinci, but with ice skates. He was also one of the first skaters to consistently land a double Salchow, which may not seem like much in the age of quads but was hella impressive at the time.
> 
> There’s a reference to a Russian idiom, specifically that repetition is the mother learning, which Victor cuts Yakov off before he can complete but which seems like something that Yakov would say.
> 
> I actually think the skaters arrive at the rink closer to 6, so in theory the Yakov and Victor scenes should have taken place first, but I wanted a little bit of a breather from the rink rather than running it straight through, so it is what it is.
> 
> Starting to think that I should add some kind of warning that this fic moves at glacier-style pacing to the tags. Any thoughts one way or the other? In any event, now that everyone’s in place, I do expect the characters to start running into one another in the not horribly distant future. ☺

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism (and random statements about how your day was and how much wood a woodchuck could chuck) always welcome!
> 
> Thanks to @eira_cannaid and @amberbaka for title suggestions (the winner was one of @eira_cannaid's)!! 
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @lanerose23! :D


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